One Wicked Week. Nicola Marsh

      Sensing his reluctance, she squeezed his hand and he slouched along beside her, his foreboding increasing when they reached the alcove and he realised exactly how sheltered they were. If this were a date, he’d love it. But sitting in the semi-darkness in a cosy booth with the woman who he’d never been able to forget wasn’t good.

      She released his hand and slid into the booth, then patted the space beside her. When he hesitated she grinned, her teeth startlingly white in the dimness. ‘I promise not to bite.’

      Once again he ignored his first response, something along the lines of ‘I wish you would,’ and slid in next to her. ‘Drink?’

      ‘I’m good for now. Maybe later.’

      Great. So much for his grand plan to make an escape for the bar they’d passed on the way in. A four-piece combo strode onto the stage at that moment: double bass, trumpet, keyboard, drums. He hoped they played loud to drown out his thoughts, focussed on how badly he still wanted her after all this time.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Jayda touched his thigh and he jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. ‘Jazz not doing it for you any more?’

      He scooted back a fraction, dislodging her hand deliberately, before he swivelled to face her. ‘Do you really want to know what does it for me?’

      He threw it out there, a blatant innuendo she couldn’t ignore. He had no idea if she’d been toying with him with her question but he couldn’t sit here in the dark with the boner to end all boners and pretend that he hadn’t once been inside this luscious woman and wouldn’t like to do it all over again.

      The band’s spotlight dimmed, thrusting her face into semi-darkness, but he saw her tongue dart out to moisten her bottom lip as her gaze focussed on his mouth.

      ‘Tell me,’ she said, barely above a whisper. ‘I want to know what does it for you.’

      Her eyes glowed like polished sapphires in the low lighting, the candlelight highlighting her glossed lips.

      That mouth. Carnal. Made for sin. Made for him.

      As he studied it her lips parted and the urge to kiss her pounded through him in time with his pulse. He couldn’t bullshit, not now. He wanted her too damn badly.

      ‘You.’ Before he could second-guess the wisdom of his impulsiveness he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his rigid cock. ‘You do it for me.’

      She gasped, her eyes widening, her excitement reflecting his in the flickering candlelight.

      ‘Too much?’ he asked, with a sardonic grin, but not letting go of her hand. Her touch after all this time made him imagine all the naughty things he’d like to do to her in this alcove.

      ‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured, a second before she surged towards him and claimed his mouth.

      Her kiss took him by surprise and she took advantage of that, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, demanding he match her. He didn’t have to be asked twice, sliding his free hand behind her head so he could change the angle, deepening the kiss to the point where he couldn’t breathe.

      She made the same soft moaning sounds in the back of her throat that she had six years earlier and it made him hornier, if that were possible. He released her hand but she maintained the pressure over his cock, palming him through his chinos, teasing him to the point he could easily ravish her without thought of fellow patrons.

      A blast of trumpet made them jump and he tore his mouth away from hers, dragging in breaths to calm his addled mind. What the hell was he doing? He had to work with her for the next couple of weeks and this would only complicate matters.

      But did it have to? They’d had sensational sex for one unforgettable night and that hadn’t stopped her approaching him to help her business. Would taking an erotic trip down memory lane really complicate things? She’d invited him here. She’d kissed him. And by the way she practically clambered all over him, she wanted more.

      ‘Brock?’

      He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah?’

      A flush stained her cheeks and moved down her neck, disappearing into that ridiculously high collar of her dress, shielding what he longed to see: the fullness of her breasts spilling over the top of her bra, the deep cleavage created by her sizeable breasts.

      As if she sensed the direction of his licentious thoughts, her hand hovered over her breastbone, drawing attention to her rigid nipples. Fuck, he wanted her.

      ‘I’m guessing you have some great jazz playlists at your place?’ Her voice turned husky, possibly from nerves or desire, as she squared her shoulders, bold and daring and delectable. ‘As good as anything these guys can produce?’

      Yeah, she wanted this as badly as he did. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was using him as an emotional crutch again, a guy to help her lose herself in a few hours of sex to obliterate whatever was really bothering her.

       Why do you care?

      The kicker was, he did care. Even after all this time, because of how he’d felt about her all through uni, he cared. She didn’t know it, but he’d never take advantage of her.

      No matter how brazen her actions, no matter how seductive her words, he had to wonder: did she want this for the right reasons? Did she really want a night of raunchy sex then to face him tomorrow without a qualm when they had to work together?

      The fact he couldn’t get a proper read on her annoyed the shit out of him. Back then she’d been vulnerable and she’d needed him and he’d been there for her.

      Tonight, her newfound confidence confused him. He’d made the first move, she’d responded with that kiss, and despite her daring he couldn’t help but think it had more to do with obliterating the earlier sadness he’d glimpsed than any burning desire to fuck him.

      When he didn’t respond she leaned across and slanted a slow, all too brief kiss across his lips. Then she took his face between her hands, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, ‘I want you. I’ve never forgotten that incredible night and I want a repeat.’

      She said all the right things, and with his cock aching to be inside her he needed to ditch the chivalry and take what she was offering.

      She added, ‘Please,’ and Brock was a goner.

      Because behind the boldness in her gaze as she eyeballed him with daring, behind the confident posture as she tilted her chin up in defiance, he heard something.

      The slightest tremor in her voice, a hint of vulnerability that got to him, as if she expected him to turn away from her despite their sizzling attraction.

      It kicked him in the fucking heart.

      He couldn’t say no.